Encore Performance
by marie-bernard
Summary: Sequel to 'The Last Waltz'


Charles had been waiting on them to show up since the night of the Apocalypse.

Demons and humans alike had been abuzz with the news since it'd happened; the humans because they hoped they'd seen their saviors on the grainy video feed that showed Dethklok destroying Selacia, the demons because even though most of them had lived through several apocalypses before, none of them had heard of such a thing as the Harbingers surviving it.

There were rumors swirling around the diabolical circles that the unique nature of this particular Apocalypse was the cause of the anomaly - it was the very first one to actually open up the gates of Hell – so the demons weren't as perturbed as they might have been, and Dethklok's already international celebrity had now gone multidimensional.

He knew they'd track him down sooner or later – there was a part of him that even looked forward to it. Given his ambivalent feelings about his own role in the Apocalypse, he'd been keeping a .38 that was loaded with hollow points in the waistband of his shorts during the day, but now he wasn't sure if he'd take it out and, if he did, what exactly he'd use it for.

He didn't move from his hammock while he watched them coming across the sand – it wouldn't have made a difference, he was a crack shot whether he was on his feet or on his back - and he wondered, not for the first time, if he'd let them have their revenge or if he'd finish the job even the most fearsome of his employers hadn't been able to accomplish.

Just as Charles had expected, Nathan spoke up first when they finally stood in front of him, "You're not an easy man to find, Offdensen. That deliberate?"

Before he could answer Pickles threw his two cents in, "Wouldn't matter if it was deliberate, we'd have found ya. We'd have tracked ya down to the ends of the earth, if that's what it took."

Charles felt his chest tighten when he saw Nathan's brows knit together in an all too familiar look of irritation.

"God, Pickles, why'd you have to say that? I had a whole…dramatic moment thing and I fucking told you about it. Didn't I? Didn't I tell you guys on the plane?"

His other band mates chorused their agreement that, yes, he had planned out and warned them about his dramatic moment on their flight here and Pickles looked equal parts chastened and irritated in return.

"Well, Jeezy, I'm fucking sorry. Fucking forget I said anything and go on with your…moment."

"No! Too motherfucking late for that now, fucking moment's ruined!"

When it appeared Pickles would protest this Charles intervened before an argument could break out and directed their attention back to the task at hand - something he'd done for them countless times before - this time by calling their attention back to him.

"You boys are looking well."

"Alive and well."

Charles acknowledged Murderface's correction with a nod, "Yes, William, alive and well."

"I guessch you weren't too happy to hear that."

"I wasn't unhappy to hear it…"

"Why you does it, Charlies? Why you does it to us?"

Trusting, child-like Toki, for whom no excuse or explanation would ever be enough, turned sad eyes and a wan expression on him. Offering his very rational justification and watching the hurt sink into his face was a penance Charles had steeled himself to pay, but his reply was cut off by Nathan's ire.

"Hey! None of that bullshit, we talked about this. He's not Charles anymore."

"No, you talks about it and I ain't interruptsing you, but that don't mean we gots no agreesmend."

"Well why don't you stop interrupting now, okay? It's grown-up talk time."

Attempting to forestall another squabble, Charles interjected again, "I watched the footage from your, ah…concert. I was gratified to see that you'd…found the weapons."

Nathan stared at him in disgust and his reply was dripping with sarcasm, "Oh yeah, thanks for that – a bunch of fucking battle axes against the guy that floated up on stage and started shooting fucking lightning bolts out of his eyes."

Charles knew he had that accusation coming, if not worse, but none of them could get under his skin like Nathan and his retort came out much more sharply than he'd intended.

"Those were authentic Swiss halberds and, if you'll recall, when I suggested decorating the stage with flamethrowers you insisted on 'brutal medieval weaponry,' although it was difficult to tell since you mispronounced the word 'medieval' several times."

"Oh God, a mispronounced word! Why don't you go fuck yourself, Charles? You know, you got some fucking nerve. If that stupid dildo you worked for hadn't pretty much telegraphed his intentions when he ran towards us screaming, 'I'm gonna take your heads,' we'd probably all be dead right now!"

"Pffft, we all bes dead if I ain't knowings what to do with the skeggöx," Skwisgaar eyed Charles disdainfully, "I ams rushing forward likes the heros and takesing off his head before he gets the chance to do for us."

"Toki ams a hero, too! What about when I trips him so you can whacks his head off?"

"You mean when you trips over you's own cord and fall in fronts of him? Yeah, it am some real helpfulings," the Swede finished with an eye roll for his younger band mate then sneered at Charles again, "Course beings the big damn heros don'ts matter no more 'cause the demons has taking over everythings. Pretty demon ladies don't give the fucks about no heros shits."

'What'sch the matter, you not getting laid enough? I know I am," Murderface caught Charles's eye and nodded towards his own dick while he did something lascivious with his tongue that was rendered all the more obscene by the fact that it was _Murderface_, then smugly informed him, "Demon chicksh can't get enough of thisch fucking hog. Yeah, you heard that right, the ladiesh of Hell are loving it."

"Dude, I don't know what you're complaining about, when you had 'em announce us as the Harbingers the other night at Belphagor's place we couldn't beat 'em off with a stick!"

"Yeah, you ams rights about that," Skwisgaar conceded the point to Pickles, then turned back to Charles with his usual arrogant expression fixed in place and loftily proclaimed, "We ams _The Harbingers Who Lived_."

Charles was a bit stupefied by Skwisgaar's haughty declaration – surely he didn't think that was some sort of title? Being familiar with diabolical mythos and with the hierarchy of the Netherworld, Charles knew that a Harbinger who survived ushering in the Apocalypse was unprecedented, but it certainly wasn't something that came with an official rank.

He was deliberating the best way to break the news to the guitarist when he was jolted out of his thoughts by Nathan's bellowing.

"Everybody shut the hell up! Who gives a fuck who's getting laid, or what they fucking call you, or if you're a big damn hero! Is any of that shit what we fucking came here for! He knows what fucking happened, he saw it on the news feed like all the other jackoffs! "

Nathan stopped for a moment, panting to catch his breath, and then turned that wrathful glare directly on Charles.

"You know what you didn't see while you were counting your money and laughing your ass all the way to the bank? You didn't see us fucking scared out of our minds, with our manager missing, and our fucking servants acting like they didn't even know who we fucking were. We had to beg them, Offdensen, beg the fucking _Gears_ for a ride back home, and when we finally got back to Mordhaus it was only to find out the place ain't even ours anymore 'cause the guy with our power of attorney sold the fucker out from under us and Mordhaus is now Satan's summer home!"

Listening to Nathan's tirade was painful. When he'd personally made sure that all the replicas on stage were switched with actual weapons he hadn't been sure if he was doing it because he honestly thought he was giving them a glimmer of a chance, or as some twisted salve to his conscience, but now to hear how he'd left them to the wolves - almost literally if they'd gone to see Luce – well, after years of taking care of his boys it was hard to bear.

He groped for something to say, knowing any words from him now would only seem tepid and insulting, but he was saved from making a reply by Pickles's always ill-timed sense of when a conversation needed his input as the drummer took up Nathan's tale.

"He was there – Satan, I mean, he told us all about how he'd got to know you and your fucking boss, even said we could stick around if we wanted to. I thought he seemed like a real decent guy," the drummer jerked a thumb towards the larger man next to him, "but Nathan wasn't having it."

The singer's response was clipped in irritation, "Pickles, he wanted to eat you."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure that was a 'fuck me' stare he was throwing my way an' I think I'd know," Pickles gave the younger man an indulgent look, "I've had a little more experience with the less-fairer sex than you have, Nate."

Charles's small noise of dissent attracted both men's attention and he reluctantly explained, "Probably he would have done both. At the, ah…same time."

Pickles and the rest of the band looked disgusted, but Nathan's face wore an expression of triumphant vindication.

"Well color me motherfucking shocked! Didja hear that, Pickles? The Devil is a gigantic weirdo freak. Who woulda thought that, huh?"

"Ah…fuck you, Nathan."

Pickles couldn't help but be chagrined and while he was more than willing to let that subject drop, he still had something he wanted to get off his chest, "Ya know, Charles…"

"Offdensen," Nathan growled.

"Fuck you, Nathan!" Pickles shot a glare in the singer's direction then continued what he wanted to say to his former manager, "Ya know before all this I'd kinda got to thinking about how you was something like a dad to me, only better maybe, but that's right when I shoulda known to be on the lookout for the fucking knife in my back. If there's one thing I shoulda already learned in life, it's that the only thing a family's gonna do for you is fucking stick it in and twist it, just as soon as you let your guard down."

"Pickles, I…"

"Don't say it! I know you're fucking sorry. You're a sorry sonofabitch to pretend you cared about us all those years so's it'd make your job just a little bit easier."

"Ams that the truths? You ams only presendings to cares abouts us?"

Charles noticed that in the absence of his guitar Skwisgaar's fingers were twisting reflexively around the strap of the duffle bag he had slung over his shoulder. Watching the Swede unconsciously perform his typical stress reaction on the nylon cord struck at Charles's heart in a way not even Toki had managed.

For all his sexual acting out, Skwisgaar was the most emotionally self-contained member of Dethklok - a quality that'd sometimes caused his manager to feel a strange sort of kinship with him. He'd shut down before he willingly showed his hurt to anyone – except in the innumerable little ways that were obvious to anyone who cared enough to look.

"No, Skwisgaar, I didn't pretend to care," he looked at Pickles who studiously refused to meet his eyes, "and I didn't do it because it was easier. If anything my, ah…fondness for you boys made my job that much harder to do."

"Well the jobs am fuckings over now," Skwisgaar said coldly.

With quick, precise movements he pulled the bag from his shoulder, ripped open the zipper, and dumped its contents in Charles's lap. Charles gasped in shock and surged upward, sending his hammock swaying and the grisly object tumbling towards the sand.

Skwisgaar had been carrying Selacia's head.

It wasn't so much the sight of a severed head that had Charles reeling - he'd taken similar trophies for himself at least a score of times - but to see Selacia so reduced was stunning to him. Charles swung his legs over the side of the hammock and leaned down for a closer look at the final remains of the half-man who'd once made entire cities tremble before him and had the mightiest of kings brought low and bound in chains.

Someone had attempted to embalm it he saw, but not quickly enough. The color was bad and there were signs of skin slippage. Had it not been wrapped in plastic Charles knew he'd be able to smell the odor of decay under the more pungent scent of formaldehyde. If the head were his he'd have boiled off the flesh and either kept the intact skull or fashioned it into a wine goblet, but this was Dethklok's war prize so…

"So, I'd say the question is…do we gotta take your head now, too?"

The low rumble of Nathan's voice broke his trance and Charles stiffened as he caught the flash of sunlight off the knife Murderface yanked from his boot. He'd always warned the bassist a blade with a matte finish was more practical. In one smooth motion Charles sat up and pulled out the pistol that'd been concealed under his shirt.

"I'd say a better question is do you think you can?"

Toki let out a small squeaking noise and took a step behind Skwisgaar, but everyone else was deathly still. Their faces registered a mixture of surprise, hurt, anger, and fear - except for Nathan. Nathan's face was nothing but bitterness.

"A gun, Offdensen, fucking really? You gonna shoot all of us now?"

"You were going to cut off my head!" Charles reminded him.

"We were only gonna maybe cut off your head!"

"…don't remember a _maybe_…" Murderface mumbled under his breath.

"It was Plan B!" Nathan shouted in indignation.

"Well then what wasch Plan A?"

Charles opted to use his prerogative as the only one holding a gun and interrupted before Nathan could respond.

"William, I want you to turn around very slowly and throw your knife out to sea."

When the bassist started to protest Charles made a 'go on' gesture with his pistol and Murderface snapped his jaws shut and turned around. He grunted with effort as he flung the long Bowie knife towards the ocean, it spiraled up into the air and landed with a heavy thump in the soft sand less than twenty feet away from him.

It was good enough, Charles decided. Murderface was the only one even marginally proficient with a blade and he was so fat and slow that twenty feet away might as well be two hundred. Charles held up his .38 and slowly made eye contact with each of the men in front of him then returned it to his waistband and covered it again with his shirt. The members of Dethklok were visibly relieved and Charles was satisfied, a de-escalation of the tension was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"Now, about this, ah…Plan A?" he asked.

Nathan looked confused and glanced around at his other band mates, "Did we…did we ever, uh…agree on a Plan A?"

Pickles spoke up, "You said we wouldn't cut off his head if it turned out he really 'you-know-what' about us. Which I guess he already admitted to 'cause he said 'fondness' to Skwisgaar and that probably means the same as 'you-know-what', right?"

Nathan nodded in confirmation and Pickles continued, "An' I said that don't make no difference unless he apologizes," the drummer turned to Charles and shrugged his shoulders, "I know I didn't wanna hear it before but I think I'm ready now."

Charles quirked an eyebrow at him and replied with all the sincerity he could muster, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you know, I think that means a lot more to me now that I know you got a gun. It's like…I know you didn't hafta to say it, but you did it anyway, so…thanks, I guess."

Charles nodded in acknowledgement and addressed the rest of the band, "Anyone else? Skwisgaar?"

He looked down at the lead guitarist who'd fallen to his knees in front of him and was now hastily shoving Selacia's head back into his duffle bag. The Swede looked up when he heard his name and pulled the head closer, as though he were afraid Charles would try and take it away.

"Whats? No, I gots nothing. We ams good."

Skwisgaar hurriedly finished zipping his bag then resumed his position next to Toki. Charles was faintly amused by the other man's possessiveness, watching Skwisgaar had stirred up a hazy memory of how prideful and jealous a much younger version of himself had been over the first trophy skull he'd taken so many, many years ago.

As soon as Skwisgaar was beside him again, Toki spoke up, "You gots also to promises you ain'ts gonna do that shits again. You ain'ts allowed to beratels us no more."

"Betrayals. He's not allowed to betrayals…betrays, betray us anymore," Nathan corrected for his younger band mate.

Charles decided not to mention how much easier - and actually possible - that would be now that Selacia was dead and nodded solemnly at the young guitarist, "I promise, I won't do it again."

"I wanna know where the fuck I wasch when all thisch wasch going on? I don't remember talking about any of thisch schit."

"You ams right there sharpensing you's knife, then you goes to the bathrooms for a real longs time," Skwisgaar informed him.

"Oh, that…Well, I had to…I wasch…uhh…urm… ahh…" the bassist's face grew red as he trailed off into inarticulate grunting, then suddenly found something very interesting near the waterline to stare at.

"Yeah, that ams what we thoughts."

"Hey! There is another thing," Nathan narrowed his eyes at Charles as he spoke, "we still don't have any place to stay thanks to you."

Charles was somewhat at a loss but made the first offer that popped into his mind, "I can possibly make arrangements for a…ah…timeshare at Mordhaus, if you're interested in…going back there."

"A timeshare…with the Devil. That's seriously what you're suggesting here, a timeshare with Satan?" Nathan shook his head in disbelief, "We're gonna have to work on your you-know-what-ing skills 'cause you're not really very good at it."

"I could make other inquiries, what were you…"

Nathan interrupted Charles as he plopped down beside him in the hammock, causing the smaller man's body to lean into him, "I was thinking more along the lines of some place in the tropics, something small…close to the water. Maybe a couple of cabanas near the beach so we can all be together, but still, you know, have a little privacy."

Charles realized the boys must have been at his house looking around before they'd come down to the beach to find him. Nathan's heavy arm draped across his shoulders and pulled him a smidge closer.

"What do you think, Charles? You think we can find some place like that?"

Charles decided the arm around him didn't feel heavy, it felt…familiar, comforting even.

"I think I might know a guy…"

THE END


End file.
